


Table Salt and Seltzer

by White Queen Writes (fhartz91)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Don't copy to another site, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Lovers, Light Angst, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Canon, Public Sex, Romance, Sexual Content, angels sense love, but demons sense lust, even from angels, ruined orgasm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:34:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25672165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/White%20Queen%20Writes
Summary: Another dinner, another waitperson smitten with Aziraphale's husband dropping food on Aziraphale's favorite coat. But while he's in the loo trying to keep the stain from setting, Crowley has a secret to tell his husband about why that waiter dropped their dessert in the first place. Then Crowley punishes/makes it up to him.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 268





	Table Salt and Seltzer

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this piece for inclusion in a zine that dumped me and yes, I'm going to mention it since I'm going to be bitter about it till the day I die XD I embellished on it a bit and here it is. Please let me know what you think :)

"Animals," Aziraphale mutters, staring forlornly at the reddish-purple Cherries Jubilee stain on the lapel of his favorite coat. It had started out a dollop, no bigger than a pea, but in his attempt to smile graciously and dab it away with his napkin and a drop of seltzer, it spread and spread to the size of a persimmon.

"This time I have to agree with you," Crowley says, following close behind but still giving Aziraphale his space. His angel is not amused.

Not in the slightest.

"This is the _third_ _time_!" Aziraphale sighs, running the least pink corner of his linen napkin underneath the cold water tap, then attacking the stain again with no better results.

"I can miracle that away for you," Crowley offers.

"Don't bother," Aziraphale snaps. "I should just leave it. Lord knows the next time we go out together some other waiter will find an excuse to spill something on it. Probably in the same spot, too."

"Come now. Let's take this off." Crowley slides the coat gingerly from his husband's shoulders. "Going to ruin the fibers that way, you keep rubbing it like that." He snaps his fingers, lifting the stain, disintegrating it into the cosmos. He smooths down the fabric, removing the watermark with the heat of his palm, but doesn't return it to his husband, hanging it instead from a hook by the mirror on the wall. "That's why everything I wear is black. No need to worry about unsightly stains."

"But this never happens to _you_! Not once in all the times we've gone out has some distracted waiter poured a glass of water in your lap, or ... or dropped a plate of pasta on your shirt!"

"That's because you're too _nice_."

Aziraphale shoots Crowley a venomous look through the bathroom mirror. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"You don't solve your problems with petty revenge. I do."

"I don't ..." Aziraphale shakes his head. Angels don't get tired, but he's too tired for this. "What the Devil do you mean?"

"I'm a _demon_ , angel ..." Crowley strolls towards him, comes up behind him, inching him against the sink till Aziraphale is trapped between it and him. "You might be aces at detecting love. But lust? That's _my_ department."

"L-lust?" Aziraphale swallows nervous knots that had begun to collect at the back of his throat. How had Crowley known? Could he read Aziraphale's thoughts? Aziraphale didn't think demons had that power, but he'd always suspected Crowley might. Where he was concerned anyway. Crowley is such a unique creature, his powers beyond the scope of ordinary demons. If any one of them could read an angel's mind, it would be Crowley.

Or had Aziraphale just been that obvious?

Aziraphale prides himself on having an exceptional poker face, but would that cover for his racy daydreaming at the dinner table?

New to intimacy, their physical relationship at present has lingered somewhere around the vista of the average made-for-TV romcom. It's sweet and soft and romantic - everything making love to an angel should be, Aziraphale supposes. And Aziraphale enjoys it. His handsome husband, so much more an attentive, sensitive lover than Aziraphale imagined he'd be, probably because he figures that's how angels should be made love to.

Aziraphale isn't surprised his husband would believe that. Crowley consumes a lot of media. And humans have made a plethora of movies about the subject, mostly during the mid-80s. But more and more lately, Aziraphale wonders how _demons_ approach sex. Demon nature tends to reflect, as well as inspire, the basest behaviors in humans, and Aziraphale has seen how _they_ handle sex in books, in movies, in music.

Humans can't seem to stop talking about sex, even when they're condemning each other over having it.

Sex was even present in the room with them while they dined.

Right after the appetizer, a newlywed couple arrived and occupied the table across from them. The entire night, the two lovebirds stole kisses, shared heated glances, whispered highly inappropriate and suggestive comments when they thought no one could hear. The young lady even stroked her new husband under the table between courses, shielded by the cream-colored tablecloth.

For an entity drawn to love, their public displays of affection were impossible for Aziraphale to ignore, especially their decision to take their food (plus a bottle of champagne) to go fifteen minutes into their meal.

It gave him ideas.

But he didn't mention them, tried not to let show that he was entertaining them. Sitting across from his husband, nonchalantly ignoring the way Crowley's eyes glowed at him from behind dark glasses, Aziraphale had indulged in some of the dirtiest, raunchiest thoughts involving his husband's mouth that his mind would dare come up with.

Could Crowley sense that from him, even though Aziraphale isn't human?

Whether he can or not, Aziraphale didn't see it being something Crowley would object to.

"You're not making any sense," Aziraphale says. "You were exacting revenge ... on _me_?"

" _No,"_ Crowley stresses with a roll of his eyes. "Our waiter."

Aziraphale's face scrunches in confusion. "Our ... our waiter?"

"Yes. I could see inside his brain. I knew what he wanted."

"Really? And you thought that spilling fruit on me and making me leave the table would keep him from wanting you?"

"No." Crowley dips his nose into Aziraphale's curls and takes a deep sniff of his cologne. " _You_."

Aziraphale scoffs. "You're lying!"

"I'm not." Crowley follows the scent to his husband's collar, running the tip of his nose along the sensitive skin behind his neck until goosebumps form. "You don't seem to realize how captivating you are. You smile so easily, so genuinely. And you're so damn polite. You're way too charming for your own good. Besides - people assume from looking at me that I'd be easy to get with, but you? You're the challenge. You'd need to be won." Crowley puts a hand to each side of Aziraphale's hips and grips the basin beside him. "He wanted you the way I have you now - completely at my mercy. He was so distracted by his daydreaming, it was easy to trip him up, make him spill dessert."

"What the ...?" Aziraphale gasps, turning slightly to glare at his husband in the flesh. "That was _you_?"

"A-ha."

"But ... why would you do that!?"

"To make you leave the table," Crowley admits. "Get you away from _him._ " Crowley's eyes shift, the liquid amber of his serpent side crowding out the white as he peers at Aziraphale over the frames of his glasses. "Get you alone."

Aziraphale chuckles indignantly but he doesn't look away. He can't. That possessive look in his husband's eyes is too decadent.

It's one Aziraphale has been longing for.

"In the loo?"

"Yup."

"You could have just said something, you know."

Crowley shrugs. "I know. But that's not exactly my style, is it?"

"Well ..." Aziraphale turns in the tight space created by his husband crowding him against the basin "... now that you have me alone, what do you intend on doing with me?"

Crowley grins. This was the part he'd been waiting for.

The _reveal_.

"Everything he wanted to." Crowley loosens Aziraphale's bow tie, unbuttons the top button of his shirt, and sinks his teeth gently into his angel's neck. "I'm going to kiss everywhere he imagined kissing ... touch everywhere he wanted to touch ..."

"M-my dear ..." Aziraphale squeaks as Crowley reaches for the angel's trousers, pops open the button with no effort whatsoever, "th-the humans ..."

"... can't see us."

"Then what do they see?"

"A leaky faucet," Crowley explains, dragging the tip of his tongue up Aziraphale's neck, "some barrier tape ... an out of service sign ..."

"So, you put this basin out of service ..."

"... so I can service _you_ ," Crowley finishes.

Aziraphale's eyes go wide. "O-oh ..."

"Seems like a fair trade if you ask me." Crowley leans into his husband's ear. "You have three seconds to stop me before I decide where I want my tongue. One ..." Crowley drops slowly down Aziraphale's body, hands creeping down the worn velvet of his favorite waistcoat, nails scratching lines through the pile. "Two ..."

Aziraphale struggles to think straight with his husband dropping to his knees in front of him, mischievous eyes shining in the light coming from the faux chandeliers overhead. His hands find the cold metal of the basin behind him and grab hold, eyes glued to his husband's face as he settles on the ground and finds Aziraphale's erect cock waiting for him.

There's a pause ... then a nod ... and a sharp, demonic smile.

"Three ..." A bifurcated tongue wraps around Aziraphale's shaft and strokes, coiling around, then unwinding, slithering along Aziraphale's skin as it retreats into Crowley's mouth. Aziraphale drops his head back against the glass, eyes raised to the ceiling, biting back moans that would otherwise echo through the air.

"Go ahead, angel. Moan as loud as you want. No one can hear you," Crowley says before he wraps his lips around the slick and swollen head and slides his mouth down.

"G--g---gah!" Aziraphale stutters. He has no intention of invoking the Almighty here, especially not now, and he'll do his best to overlook the fact that it's the first word that pops into his head, even if humans say Her name during sex all the time.

The bathroom door opens. A man in a gunmetal gray suit strides right up to them and stares straight into Aziraphale's eyes, the shock of it almost killing Aziraphale's erection dead.

"C---C---Crowley?" Aziraphale whispers. "He can see me! I thought you said they can't see us?"

Before Crowley even answers, the man, peering so intently at Aziraphale that it makes the angel's face burn, brings his hands up to his head and starts combing his nails through his hair. He turns left and right, examining his face, licking his fingertips, and swiping them over his eyebrows to tame them.

"Relax," Crowley mumbles, abandoning his sucking for the moment to lavish Aziraphale with long licks. "He's using the mirror. He'll be gone in a moment."

"O---okay," Aziraphale says, hips thrusting forward in search of his husband's mouth, begging for more. He can't help the movement of his hips. They have a mind of their own, and they know what they want. This body that Aziraphale has a love/hate relationship with knows what it wants. Better than him, most of the time.

But Crowley doesn't continue ... the bastard.

"Maybe this'll help keep your mind off them and on me." He rises to his feet. With his hands on Aziraphale's shoulders, Crowley turns him around. Aziraphale trembles in anticipation as Crowley positions him, setting Aziraphale's hands on the lip and curling his fingers over. "These stay here," he says, giving Aziraphale's hands a pat. Crowley's hands drift to Aziraphale's waist, shoving his waistband down below the curve of Aziraphale's rear. With suddenly (and for humans, inexplicably) lubricated fingers, Crowley opens his husband up, stretching Aziraphale, preparing him for what comes next.

Aziraphale's eyes fall to the circular drain, gulping down large breaths of air as he succumbs to his husband's touch. What Crowley is doing to him, more out of ritual than necessity since Aziraphale's body will accommodate Crowley's in ways a human body wouldn't, doesn't hurt. Far from it. But it's something they normally perform less urgently and in the dark. Standing like this under bright white light with his trousers sliding down his legs, he feels painfully vulnerable, even if only his husband can see him.

Especially since his husband can see him.

Yes, Aziraphale has known Crowley for 6,000 years. But it's going to take another 6,000 for Aziraphale to get used to being naked in front of him.

Used to being seen as a sexual being instead of a sacred one, even if he wants that more than anything right now.

"Watch me," Crowley demands, unzipping his jeans and shoving them to his knees, then entering Aziraphale's body with his own throbbing cock. "Thru the mirror, angel. Watch me make love to you."

"C-can you call it making love?" Aziraphale asks, his voice catching on the consonants, breath skipping over the vowels as he absorbs his husband's demonic heat into his body. "If it takes place standing upright against a basin in a public loo?"

"Watch me fuck you then!" Crowley growls. "Are you going to enjoy it any less?"

"N-no." Aziraphale shakes his head vigorously since his voice is nothing but breath, his husband's voice frightening enough to thrill.

Crowley moves without warning, pushing fast into Aziraphale's body, then drawing back slowly. Aziraphale's gaze climbs the wall on its way to the mirror, but before he can lock eyes with his husband, it falls back down. Crowley said _watch him_ , but it's not as easy as all that. Watching Crowley make love to him means seeing himself being fucked, and that's not something he's prepared to do for an extended period of time.

"Th-this is what our waiter wanted?" Aziraphale asks to stall, still not entirely convinced their waiter had his eyes set on him and not Crowley.

"A-ha. But then again, you did, too. Human lust can be addicting to some demons, but angelic lust?" Crowley stops pounding and sighs into Aziraphale's shoulder, shaking his head with his forehead resting against the joint. "Why didn't you tell me, angel?" he asks, sounding positively devastated. "Why didn't you let me in on the secret?"

"Y-you should know by now ..." Aziraphale bites his lower lip as Crowley begins again, pushing Aziraphale further and further over the basin, forcing him to hold on tighter "... i-it's not my style."

"From now on, I expect you to tell me _all_ your secrets." Crowley's hands explore his husband's body, unbuttoning buttons in search of soft, pale skin to caress. "The ones that have to do with me, anyway. If you had, uh! We'd have been doing this sooner, in loos all over the city!"

Aziraphale chuckles at the thought of blessing every washroom from here to Morpeth, then moans when a single fingertip finds his right nipple and circles 'round. "Lesson learned, I suppose."

"No." Crowley gives it a pinch, holding Aziraphale still as the angel yelps. "But you will. You will."

Snap by snap, clothing falls away, collecting in the basin, along with Crowley's glasses, until they are both naked as jaybirds in this restaurant loo. They could have been there for hours. Could have been there for days. Their waiter clears their plates, thinking they've skipped out on paying the check, and curses himself for his own incompetence. But the second he ends his shift and leaves, he forgets everything - the exorbitant tab that simply goes away; his manager's anger which, too, seems to disappear without mention; the man with the silvery-blond curls and cornflower eyes of his dreams.

And his crude, sneering companion, wearing a velvet jacket that costs more than his flat and darker than midnight sunglasses inside like he fancies himself a famous rock star. But the fact that he couldn't see the man's eyes unnerved him, the scowl on his face that never left once giving him the impression that this man was inside his mind ...

... and furious about what he saw there.

People come into the loo in waves. At first, they're difficult to ignore. It's jarring, leaning a bit on the side of taboo the longer it continues. But soon, Aziraphale stops paying attention, no longer counts how many times they pass by, stuttering a step when they notice the yellow tape, then skipping over to the next basin. The entirety of Aziraphale's focus becomes Crowley and Crowley alone - Crowley's cock pushing inside him; the skin of his chest pressed against Aziraphale's back; his fingertips tracing the lines of Aziraphale's muscles, drawing intricate symbols over every inch. His world narrows to only those things.

Angels don't suffer from exhaustion, but they do suffer from frustration. In all the time they've spent fucking against this basin, Crowley hasn't let his angel come. Not once. He's been close now, so close, reaching that edge, clawing for it with his nails just to have it reeled away from him. As Crowley's hips slow, cooling the jets on yet another ruined climax, Aziraphale whimpers, slamming a balled fist against the mirror, nearly shattering the glass.

Learn his lesson indeed.

His demon definitely didn't mince words.

"Shall we head home then?" Crowley whispers, voice rough from releasing ages of unspent craving, unrealized fantasies, locked in his throat till they began to burn. He'd be more than happy to stay here, working through his angel's body until whole centuries fly by and the building they're standing in crumbles around them. But what's the use of owning a ridiculously expensive bed if you don't take a tumble in it every once in a while? He has yet to truly test the sturdiness of the frame. Today seems as good a day as any for that. "Have our dessert there? We can order in crepes, sushi, kasekuchen ... anything your heart desires."

"I think ..." Aziraphale pants, his entire corporeal form a single raw nerve, thrumming with every shiver, every brush, every wisp of Crowley's breath touching his flesh, "I'd prefer to have _you_ for dessert ... if you don't mind."

"Not at all, love," Crowley purrs. "Your wish is my command."

And with a snap of his fingers, demon and angel are gone, putting the basin back in service once again.


End file.
